


End of Blue

by TsarinaTorment



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Background Hurt Virgil, Blood and Injury, Crash Landing, Do not trust it, Gen, Hurt Scott, Hurt/Comfort, I don't, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Scott!Whump, Underwater Rescue, chapter count is a guesstimate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: Thunderbird One’s dead in the water.  Scott Tracy isn’t responding.  Rescues never feel the same when it’s one of their own they have to save.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	End of Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, you can all thank, or blame, the wonderful Gumnut for this thing. Two seemingly unrelated vague conversations have ended up culminating in one of my specialties - yup, another Scott!whump, as though I haven’t written enough of these already (no such thing as enough!). Not sure how frequently this is going to be updated - or how long it’ll be. I know what Chapter 2 is going to do and I know there will need to be at least one more chapter after that, but muses do weird things.
> 
> Title has been snaffled from Beast in Black’s “End of the World”; make of that what you will.

"Gordon!"

John appeared in front of him, looking not quite his usual calm self. For John to be _showing_ that, even to a brother who'd learnt to read his nuances, meant that something was very, very wrong.

Gordon's hands inadvertently tightened on the controls of Thunderbird Four as he held the sinking ship steady while Alan did the evac in Thunderbird Two. This sounded like _terrible_ timing.

"What's wrong?" he asked, skipping all the quips he'd make if it was just a regular check-in. The loss of John's fantastic poker face and resulting prickles down his spine told him it was far from one.

"How long until evac's done?" his space-residing brother asked. An unusual question from their Eye In The Sky, but with Thunderbird Five under annual maintenance, the ginger didn't have all his usual data. Not even half of it. Maybe that was causing the panic, but it was just that – _annual_. Nothing unusual, if universally disliked.

"Alan's clearing the last of them now," he said. "But I've been asked to hold the ship steady until the GDF get here; they're suspecting something's-"

"Screw the GDF," John interrupted, and _woah_ something was really niggling him if he was getting that obviously frantic. "The first _instant_ you can let go of that ship, get the hell back to Two."

That was not John-typical at all. Gordon's squid sense almost exploded.

"What's happened?" he asked. "John, where do I need to be?" He was running through scenarios but he couldn't think of a single reason John would be hurrying him like this. Not unless-

"Thunderbird One's down."

_Shit_. "In the ocean?"

"North Pacific."

That was the other side of the _world_. Two hours, easy, until they got there, and they didn't even have Virgil to get all the juice out of his 'bird, what with the collection of broken bones he'd acquired on the last rescue. Gordon forced his hands to relax before he inadvertently gave Four a command he didn't mean to.

"Scott?" Thunderbird One was watertight, she should be able to hold out as long as she wasn't too deep. As long as whatever had taken her down hadn't _compromised_ that… What the hell even took her down?

"Not answering." John always looked a shade or two off through the holograms, but Gordon suspected that this time the too-pale skin wasn't entirely a trick of technology. "Too much of Thunderbird Five is still offline; I don't have telemetry. Brains and EOS are working as fast as they can, but it'll still be a few more hours before she's fully back online."

Gordon was just grateful enough of her was online to register One's crash.

"Have you told Alan?" he asked.

"He knows you need to get to the North Pacific yesterday," John answered. "Not why."

Alan was going to be furious at being left in the dark, but Gordon understood why. He'd have to fill him in on the flight over.

"We'll get there," he promised, because there wasn't another option. They _had_ to. "Give me updates as you get them."

"F.A.B." It was a reluctant acknowledgement, but they both knew John was almost useless until Five was fully online. "I'll update Tracy Island."

Gordon did not envy him that task one bit. Virgil was going to freak out. Badly.

"That's the last of them, Gordon," Alan broke in. "John says-"

"On my way," Gordon interrupted – okay, so he was a little frazzled, too. Sue him. It wasn't every day he had to rescue his eldest brother from an unplanned watery landing. "John told me. I'll fill you in on the details when we're on the way." He released the ship and shot back towards his floating module as fast as Thunderbird Four could handle. "Don't wait for me to get out of Four. Grab the module as soon as I'm docked and go."

"What about the crew? We need to drop them off, remember?"

Gordon had forgotten about the crew. "Any of them need the hospital?" A high-speed spin and he was in position for the cable to draw Thunderbird Four up the ramp.

"No, but-"

"Then they get a joyride in Two." _Clunk_ , and the docking began. Maybe he _shouldn't_ be authorising a nice round trip for a bunch of sailors, but it was already a two hour journey and they had no idea how badly Scott was hurt, or what sort of damage One had taken. Gordon had salvaged downed planes before.

They weren't pretty.

"Gordon, what-"

"Module's ready for retrieval," he interrupted, mostly because he didn't want to answer the inevitable question just yet. "Haul me up and punch it."

"F.A.B." Alan sounded far from happy, but the familiar noises and rocking sensation of module retrieval began.

Despite his instinct being to run straight to the cockpit and fill Alan in, thereby making sure he was indeed going as fast as Two could go, Gordon took his time with his post-dive checks. Thunderbird Four needed to be in top condition for the next rescue, and he refused to jeopardise Scott's safety by fluffing the checks on the 'bird that was going to save him.

She was, thankfully, just fine. No warning lights, no errors, scratches or scrapes. Thunderbird Four was more than ready for the rescue.

Now they just had to wait until they _got_ there.

"Explain," Alan ordered the moment he entered the cockpit. The rescued crew were also looking at him attentively, although thankfully none of them seemed to _mind_ the detour. Gordon ignored them as he sidled into his seat and began checking their flight data.

Alan was a good kid; he'd heard punch it and taken it for the order it was. Thunderbird Two was travelling at top speed, hurtling through the skies towards her drowning sister with everything she had.

Still, there was always room for a little _more_ , and Gordon flicked a few switches.

"Gordon!"

"Thunderbird One's down," he admitted. Behind them, he heard the unified gasps of shock from their passengers. "John can't raise her, and we have no telemetry."

"In the ocean?" Alan asked. He didn't sound like he believed it. Gordon just hoped he wasn't going to go into shock when it sank in. Hell, he hoped _he_ wasn't going to go into shock when it sank in.

"Yup. No more data, no idea why, no contact. We just know she's down."

Despite already reportedly being maxed out, Thunderbird Two sped up. Gordon knew Virgil _hated_ it when Alan or Scott treated her like their own 'birds and pushed the limits, but he suspected they might get a pass this time.

Speaking of their grounded older brother…

"Gordon, Alan!"

Virgil looked awful. The pyjamas and general 'injured person' vibes – including at least one visible cast and general mummification by bandages – aside, it was entirely too obvious that he'd been filled in on what little they knew.

"Receiving you, Virgil. Any way this girl of yours can go any faster?" he answered. "Alan's trying, but he's not you."

"Hey!"

"Make sure you get there in one piece!" Virgil demanded.

"That's the plan," Alan promised. "Anything from Scott?"

Virgil's face tightened, panic and frustration both clearly etched onto his face. It hurt to look at – Gordon knew he wanted nothing more than to be where Alan was right then, getting every last scrap of speed out of his 'bird. Gordon wanted him there, too, and not just for piloting. Virgil would have a plan, but most importantly, Virgil had the best medical knowledge. If Scott was hurt – not really an _if_ if they weren't getting any contact from him – Gordon wanted the best man for the job.

The best man was currently stuck in the infirmary with too many broken bones to be of any practical use even once they got Scott home. Gordon and Alan were just going to have to make do with their lesser qualifications.

"Nothing," Virgil growled, as though the word physically pained him. It probably did.

"Maybe he's just out of range while Five's down?" Alan suggested hopefully. They all knew that wasn't likely, but Gordon wasn't going to be the one to shoot it down. Not when he wanted to believe it, too.

"I'll try pinging him from Two," he said instead, both for something to do and in the vain hope that Alan might be _right_ – never mind that geographically they were further from Tracy Island than Thunderbird One was and their comms were working fine.

"Is there anything we can do?" the ship's captain asked from behind them. "I know we're not you guys, but if there's anything…"

Gordon was so glad they weren't kicking up a fuss.

"Accept our apologies for the extended trip," he shrugged. "Otherwise, there's not much anyone can do until we know more." He opened the line to Thunderbird One.

It connected. Normally, he'd call that a good start. Now, it just filled him with dread, because it meant comms _weren't_ down.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two," he called. "Scott, are you receiving?"

Silence.

On the other line, Virgil looked almost as pale as John's normal holographic visage. Whether that was the pain from his injuries, or something less physical, Gordon didn't dare guess.

"Scott!" he tried again. "Thunderbird One, do you hear me?"

Nothing. Not even a flicker of visual or a semi-conscious groan of pain. Nothing at all.

The thought crossed his mind that Scott wasn't even _in_ her.

"John, how soon before you get the cameras back online?" he asked. The ginger head popped up to accompany Virgil's over the dashboard – Gordon's earlier observation had been right. Their faces were both the exact same pallor. It wasn't a good look on either of them. Beside him, Alan wasn't looking too hot, either. He didn't dare think about his own appearance. "If we can't raise him, we can at least try and see what we're dealing with."

The line had connected, and he hadn't heard water. _Hopefully_ that meant she wasn't leaking and Scott was still comfy and dry, but Gordon wanted to be sure.

_Needed_ to be sure. The rescue would be a lot more complicated without that sort of information.

"Cameras are online, but Thunderbird One's are turned off right now." John's face was the picture of frustration, and he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding it in his voice, either. "It'll take a little longer before I can access them to turn them on, but EOS is making it a priority."

Scott never let any of the rest of them turn their internal cameras _off_. From now on, Gordon was going to enforce that rule for Thunderbird One, too. If John and Virgil didn't beat him to it.

Beside him, Alan was sitting in silence, staring ahead as though if he glared at the world hard enough, he could discover the secrets of teleportation. Gordon really wished it worked that way.

Sadly, teleportation didn't exist, and they were having to do things the slow way. Not that Two was _slow_ , but she certainly wasn't fast _enough_. Not today.

The minutes crawled past like hours. With Alan firmly in control and channelling Scott's inner-speed demon as much as the big green 'bird would allow, there was little for Gordon to do except periodically try to hail Scott, getting ever more concerned as silence persistently responded. He could understand a black-out for a few minutes, but it was – he checked the time – at least an hour since John had contacted him and there was still nothing on the other end of the line.

Virgil was still there, hovering in his bed-bound state and periodically throwing his own frantic calls Scott's way. Gordon hadn't even tried to tell him to leave it to them, reminding him that there was nothing he could do.

No-one knew that better than Virgil, after all, and his frustration at his helplessness was steadily mounting the longer the silence persisted.

With no solid information on what they were going to find – external access cameras, which Scott hadn't turned off, were merrily showing nothing but water and the occasional sea life investigating the strange intruder – Gordon turned his time towards planning. Plans for an intact Thunderbird One, plans for a leaking Thunderbird One, plans of extraction depending on the severity of Scott's condition. He might be going in blind, but he wasn't going to be going in unprepared.

"Coming up on the co-ordinates now." Alan broke through his planning – this scenario involving Thunderbird One somehow stuck and unable to be airlifted – to give him the heads' up. His younger brother had been far too subdued the entire flight, and Gordon just hoped he'd be able to keep it together a while longer. Thunderbird Five wasn't online enough to have remote control access yet.

And she still didn't have telemetry, which John was panicking over more and more as Scott continued to be non-responsive, or control over Thunderbird One's internal cameras.

"F.A.B.," Gordon responded automatically, getting up from his seat and heading straight for the module and his Thunderbird. She was just as he'd left her – fully prepared for the next dive – and he settled into the cockpit with ease of experience.

This was just one more rescue. One with limited information and a brother's life on the line, but still just one more rescue. He could do this.

He _had_ to do this.

Pre-dive checks were completed, all systems green and raring to go. He wondered if she was as anxious to get to her sister as he was his brother.

"Ready for module deployment," he reported, and barely a moment later they were falling, crashing into the water and rocking for a moment before they stabilised. "Alan, see if you can get a scan of Thunderbird One's condition." It wouldn't be as good as a Thunderbird Five scan, but immediately overhead, Thunderbird Two should be able to get something.

Thunderbird Four slid out of the module and under the surface to the tune of his brother's "F.A.B." Nose pointed down and sonar active, he pushed her as fast as he dared towards the location they had for the downed Thunderbird. It wouldn't be exact – Thunderbird Five's maintenance downtime crippling the accuracy – but Gordon had enough faith in it to trust that he was at least in range.

Sonar registered the craft just as Alan called him.

"Scans show one life sign," he said, and Gordon knew he wasn't imagining the relief in his younger brother's voice – mostly because he felt it, too. One life sign meant Scott was alive. Whatever state he was in, he was _alive_. "But Thunderbird One's been taking on water. Scans suggest she's half-flooded."

That was not such good news. It had to be a small leak, if it was only half after two hours, but with Scott _still_ not responding, he had no idea if his brother was wearing his helmet.

Flooding also meant she was going to be heavier to lift, but the amount of water meant it would be too risky to deploy the tube to link the two craft and attempt to evac Scott into Four. He sent one more ping at the downed Thunderbird, hoping against hope that Scott would _answer this time_.

He didn't.

Getting visual on her was a muted sort of relief. On the one hand, Scott was found, but on the other, Thunderbird One was not supposed to be nestled on the seabed. It just wasn't _right_.

Her wings were still closed, implying she'd been supersonic, and the nose cone was crumpled from the impact with either the water or the sea floor. Perhaps both. Gordon suspected that was the source of the leak, but he was more interested in the way she wasn't entirely belly-down. Rolled ever so slightly on her side, he should be able to get some sort of visual through the viewing window.

"I've got eyes on her," he belatedly reported. "Her nose is damaged but otherwise she doesn't look too bad. She's not quite belly-down, so I'm going to go EVA and see what I can see through the viewing window."

He just needed to see Scott. See that he was okay, see if he had his helmet on and if it was intact.

"Be careful," John warned. "Your suit won't hold for long at those depths."

That was normally Virgil's line, but Virgil had gone silent. Gordon would worry about that later, once Scott was safe.

"I just need to check his condition," he said, tipping backwards into the airlock. "I won't be long."

Compared to Thunderbird Two, Thunderbird One always seemed small. Somehow, in the wide expanse of the ocean, she looked _big_. Crashed machinery instead of sleek 'bird. The thought made him shudder as he pushed through the water, heading straight for the panel of window he could see.

Thunderbird One's emergency lighting was on, dim and shrouding most things in shadow.

It was enough to see that Scott was slumped in the pilot chair. Definitely unconscious, and also not wearing his helmet, because that would have made Gordon's job too easy.

It wasn't enough to see _why_.

He banged on the glass, in case the vibrations could do what persistent comms couldn't and rouse his brother.

Nothing.

The water was up past Scott's boots; Gordon couldn't see how far but his brother was at least partially submerged.

"Alan, we'll need the lifting bags." There was no way he could safely get Scott out until they were on the surface.

"Coming down to you now." It was Virgil who responded, deep voice full of determination. Gordon suspected he'd demanded the remote controls for them. "How is he? Can you see him?"

"I can see he's still in his seat," Gordon answered. "Not wearing his helmet, so I can't evac him until she's lifted with all that water in her, and still not responding to anything. It's too dark to see anything else."

"Any sign of what brought them down?" John asked.

"Nothing," Gordon admitted, and that concerned him, because what could bring One down – especially with Scott piloting her? "Only damage I'm seeing so far is from the landing."

"Lift bags incoming," Virgil warned, and he looked up to see the yellow bags descending.

With one last look at his unmoving brother, eerie with the emergency lighting playing over the water inside, he peeled himself away from the viewing window and swam up to meet them, making sure they were firmly attached to the Thunderbird. No room for error.

"Ready to deploy."

He swam back to Thunderbird Four, slipping back inside and into the cockpit to watch as the bags inflated and slowly, slowly, peeled the downed 'bird off of the sea floor.

The ascent seemed to take forever, and Gordon kept pace the entire time, peering through the viewing window as best he could to keep an eye on his brother. There was no movement at all, no reaction to the way his Thunderbird was rising back up to the surface.

If not for Alan's report of a life sign, he would have been fearing the worst. As it was, he was still terrified that something was badly wrong, although with Thunderbird One mostly intact, he wasn't sure _what_. There shouldn't have been anything _to_ knock him out. Certainly not for this long.

The moment they breached the surface, he latched on to her with Thunderbird Four's arms and once again left his 'bird. Gecko gloves gave him the grip he needed to scramble up to Thunderbird One's dorsal hatch, and with a quick manual override – that thankfully _worked_ – he dropped down into thigh-deep water inside the Thunderbird.

"Scott!" he called, ignoring frantic demands from his brothers that he update them. He'd update them when he knew what was going on himself. Thunderbird One rolled gently with the water she was floating on, somewhat stabilised by Four but not entirely. Not until _clanks_ told him Alan had fired grapples to lock on.

He waded his way towards the pilot chair, eyeing the way Scott was slumped and already mentally running through all the possible reasons for his unresponsiveness. A hand on the shoulder of the seat – not his brother until he knew injuries – and he pulled himself the rest of the way until he was in front of Scott, and-

_Oh shit._

He must have said it out loud, because suddenly there were three brothers in his ear – _loud_ and _frantic_ – but he only had eyes for his white, white brother. None of his theories, his suspicions, had been right. Not even _close_.

Blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Scott's abdomen, but it wasn't those that had Gordon's teeth grinding in a mix of fear and fury. No.

It was the knife buried hilt-deep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari


End file.
